


Where Is My Mind

by cornflakes_canvas



Series: It's In Your Head [1]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:24:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakes_canvas/pseuds/cornflakes_canvas
Summary: Two years, five months, one week and five days





	Where Is My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is so fluffy, I threw up in my mouth a little bit

_Two years, five months, one week, and four days._  
Kyle glanced at the small clock offering an almost eerie source of red light from above the entrance to the cramped sleeping area of their tour bus, registering the late hour - _five days._

Two years, five months, one week and five days ago, Kyle had stood in front of Dan, voice shaking, hands shaking, convinced that the floor beneath his feet was shaking, and had said to him what had seemed impossible to say out loud. Turns out that asking one of your best friends to be your boyfriend was exactly as difficult as expected. Kyle had felt like he could hear the bells of Notre-Dame ringing in his ears.

But Dan, being Dan, only needed to breathe four words, voice as shaky as Kyle's, to make it all disappear: the anxiety, the embarrassment, the nerves. A quiet, unexpected “Yeah, I - um … yes” was all Kyle needed and he felt like he could take on _anything_. Anything at all.  
No fancy words, no eloquent speech, no promise of eternal love or any of that bullshit. Just under three seconds of barely coherent stuttering and he was gone. Shot to the moon in a rocket, leaving behind a trail of rainbows.

They shared a lot of tentative kisses that night, went on a proper date four days later, lost themselves in tour stress and fell for each other a little bit harder with every passing day, every joke, every touch, every second spent by the other's side.  
They learned to taste, really _taste_ each other's names on their tongues, learned to appreciate the gravity of interlaced fingers, came to know every centimetre of each other's bodies by heart, eyes and fingertips ghosting over skin, leaving goosebumps in their way, mapping out every freckle, every scar. It was crazy and amazing and _right_.

It didn't feel like two and a half years had passed since then. What they shared between them still felt new and exciting, even whilst so much had changed around them. Their relationship had grown into a reliable constant, a warmth to return to after a long day, a bright light tamping down hurt and fear.

They had moved in together, then moved together; they got a new bed, a grey cat and a red heart-shaped fridge magnet. With a pen. It was _reusable_. There had been an unspoken “no cheesy messages” policy in the beginning and it all started with offensive notes, insults, words that Dan would wipe out blushing furiously. Then it went on to “buy milk” and “no bread”, to “the cat missed you”, to _“I missed you”_.

They loved passionately. They _fought_ passionately. Dan was emotional and Kyle was stubborn. Kyle said hurtful words, in the heat of the moment. Dan reacted like a wounded animal, pulling away, hiding, not talking to Kyle until he sat down next to him, quiet at first, still lingering on that last hint of stubbornness, before finally offering up a sincere apology, spoken in soft words. They both knew when it was time to end a fight.

They were so very close to two and a half years when someone finally said the words.  
When _Woody_ said the words.

“So, you gonna put a ring on that finger?”

He said it in a light-hearted, joking manner, an amused smirk lighting up his features, but Kyle knew - deep down his friend was being serious. His heart stopped for a second and Woody laughed at the shocked expression on his face.  
And Kyle threw himself headfirst into an existential crisis.

So it came that he lay stretched out next to Dan in one of the tiny bunks on the tour bus, wide awake while the other was sleeping a deep, desperately needed sleep by his side, relaxation finally smoothing out his features after weeks of near-constant stress.

He was beautiful. He was kind. He was talented and intelligent. And still, the thought of marrying Dan left Kyle feeling like a thousand ants were invading his bloodstream.  
Even though he had always wanted to settle down with someone when he was older, and even though he was one-hundred-and-ten percent positive that Dan was indeed that _someone_ , the words “marriage” and “husband” made him feel like a suffocating weight was sitting on his chest.

He had no excuses, no “but I haven't seen the world yet” or “I don't know what to do with my life”. He _had_ seen the world and he _did_ know what he wanted in life. He wanted Dan and he wanted to continue to play Dan's music until he stupidly fell off a mountain or got run over by an ice-cream van, or something equally ... _Kyle_.  
But he wasn't sure he wanted to marry the man. And he felt terrible about it.

And thus, all Kyle was left with was “you don't deserve him” and he needed to get away.  
So he got away - climbed out of the bunk, careful not to wake his love, shrugged on a hoodie and stepped outside the tour bus.

The night air was cold and after breathing deeply for a number of minutes, the initial feeling of panic and dread diminished into a nagging sensation at the back of his mind, like a mosquito's continuous buzzing in a darkened room in the middle of the night, and Kyle began to feel some _sense_ seep back into his thoughts.

He sat down on the narrow metal step closing the short gap between the pavement and the tour bus.  
Deep breaths.

He loved Dan. More than he ever thought he could love someone. It scared him a little sometimes. The responsibility, the weight of it. This, it was the most important part of his life.  
_Dan_ was the most important part of his life.

He had never liked planning too far ahead, trapping himself in fixtures and finalities. He liked being free, taking things as they came. He didn't like having his future laid out in front of him, all set in stone, which was why joining the band had been easy, back when _a tiny gig in a shitty pub next week_ was all the future they had planned out.

Now he had Dan, he _had_ him, and he felt responsible for his partner's happiness because he knew how deeply the other reciprocated his love. So why did the thought of marrying the love of his life leave him struggling for air?

 _Let's approach this with logic, Kyle._  
It was a big decision to make. For his life _and_ for Dan's. He didn't want to fuck up what they had, and even though he had faith in their love, he had seen too many marriages fall apart to take this lightly.  
He could almost hear his dad's voice reverberating in his skull: _If you're nervous about it, it means you give a shit._ And boy, did he give a shit.

It wasn't like he hadn't pictured it before. Dan with a ring on his finger. It made his heart skip a beat.  
Maybe these thoughts had started forming in Kyle's head from the minute he realised just _how much_ he loved his man. But there was a difference between “ _God_ , you're gorgeous, I want to have your adopted babies” and actually shopping for an _engagement ring_. There was a difference between leaving a small spare room in your flat empty for a specific potential use, no labels attached, and asking your partner to spend _the rest of their life_ with you.  
Never mind Kyle's internal issue of _“What if I can't take care of him?”_ \- what if Dan didn't _want_ Kyle to take care of him? There was always the chance of him saying _No_.

It was all becoming too much to handle.  
_Go to your happy place, Kyle._ Which, ha. Of course.  
Dan. Lying in bed, soft sheets covering pale skin, chest rising and falling ever so slightly, peacefully. A glance upwards through dark eyelashes, skin peppered with freckles mimicking the starry sky outside the window, ocean eyes focused entirely on Kyle. Love. Trust. Warmth. The centre of his world, right there beneath his fingertips.

And suddenly, it was all he could think about. All his brain was able to provide.

Dan sitting at their kitchen table at six in the morning, phone in one hand, the other shovelling sugary cereal into his mouth, drops of milk dripping down his stubbled chin.

Dan using the hem of his t-shirt to clean his glasses, involuntarily exposing his hipbone, a flash of pale skin.

Dan laughing hysterically at Kyle's lame jokes, a whole-body-laugh, a hand gripping Kyle's upper arm for support, his voice jumping up almost an entire octave.

Dan taking off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose in concentration. The imprints of the nose pads are still visible through the palish red patches on his skin. It makes Kyle want to lean down and place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose.

Dan at the piano, fingers ghosting over the keys before pressing down gently but with purpose, caressing them like a lover's body.

Dan talking, passionately. Angrily. Happily. Annoyance in his voice, excitement, wild gestures. Eloquence. A man of words, a poet.

Dan standing in a corner of the room, everyone around him celebrating, brow furrowed in concentration, bordering on distress, mumbling into his phone, relief flooding his features when he presses _save_.

Dan, _drunk_. Touchy. Giggling, leaning into his side, for once not bothered about _what people will say_. Eyes shining brightly, cheeks flushed.

Dan, frustrated. He hasn't written anything in weeks, he's sure he's broken, he must be. His writing is “average at best anyway”. The band, everyone's relying on him, what's he gonna do if he can't write anymore, _What am I gonna do, Kyle?_ Vulnerability. Tears wiped away with a thumb brushing against his cheek tenderly. _You're not broken, I promise._

Dan in their dimly lit living room at three in the morning, writing, song after song spilling out of him. Smiling, relieved, tired. _See, you're not broken._ A kiss to the temple. _Come back to bed. It's lonely without you._ They sleep, wrapped up in each other's arms. Daylight slowly starts seeping into the room as birds break into song outside their window. Oblivious to the waking world, they don't hear them in the safety of each other's embrace. _In your warmth I forget ..._

Dan, jealous. A frown, a tightening of the jaw, a cold stare, a spark of irritation. Silence on the way home; tangled sheets and deep sighs, words of possessiveness. _Mine. Mine._ Strong arms, a reassuring hand stroking up his spine, rings cold against his searing skin. _Yours._

Dan, singing.  
Singing to himself, quietly, absorbed, melodies floating around his mind, poesy and verse spilling from his lips, too beautiful and pure for the harsh world they are born into. Kyle's heart feels like it beats faster and slower at the same time. It almost hurts.

Dan singing to him, _only_ him. Softly trying the notes that have formed in his head, tasting the words on his tongue. He relishes in the feeling of speaking them out loud, albeit tentatively. His gaze is fixed on the piano. Uncertainty, expectation. _What do you think?_

Dan playing a half-finished song to the guys, a vague attempt at confidence. Nervous, unsure, seeking support. Kyle smiles at him reassuringly. A slight swell of the chest, a straightening of the back. Kyle couldn't be more proud. _I think it's brilliant._

Dan singing in front of ten thousand people. Scared, anxious, passionate.  
Self-doubt. Adrenaline. Exhaustion.  
His voice is powerful. It shakes Kyle to the core. It makes him _feel_. It makes him _love_.  
Love.

 _I love you, Daniel._  
A warm smile.  
_I love you._

_You deserve the world._

Dan at the opening of some new London art gallery, staring intently at a bright, abstract painting. Kyle next to him, staring intently at Dan. He glances around the silent room, gazes at the small labels next to each of the pieces of art displayed on the walls. He's leaning into Dan's space, a smirk tugs on his lips. Then, quietly: _You should be labelled, cause you're a work of art._ Dan blushes in embarrassment and tries to hide a small laugh while he slaps his arm, a weak attempt at shutting him up.

Dan, standing in their bedroom, cheeks flushed, breaking away to breathe for just a second. _“I want you”_ , desperately.  
A gasp, his lips brushing against Kyle's. His body is impossibly warm, the sound of his laboured breathing loud in the night-enfolded room. Their bodies are pressed together. Time is slowing down around them.  
Dan cradles Kyle's head in his hands, after. A blissful smile, a tired _I love you_.  
Kyle has never loved like this before.

Dan, younger, eyes impossibly bigger, rounder, wild hair, tame heart. Kind to everyone, excited about everything.  
_You should join my band, man!_ The start of something new. The first day of the rest of his life.  
His life – Dan.  
Dan Dan Dan.

Kyle looks up, his eyes re-focusing on reality, mind re-focusing on _now_. He wipes at his face with his sleeve. He's still scared, still nervous. But now, the sky is turning from black to blue in the distance. The door opens behind him and he knows, without looking up.  
His Dan.

A soft, sleepy “Kyle?”. A warm hand on his back, comforting. Sides pressed together. A head resting on his shoulder, a soft exhale, no questions. They sit in silence, until Kyle takes Dan's hand in his own, rubbing soothing circles into the cooling skin. He looks into his soulful eyes and is overcome by emotion, confessions of love sounding dull in his head, struggling to find any expression, any metaphor to describe the depth of his feelings.  
There are one-hundred-seventy-one-thousand-four-hundred-and-seventy-six words in the Oxford English dictionary, yet still. _It's not enough._

Dan blinks at him sleepily. Kyle brushes a wild strand of hair from his forehead, like a faint memory from a long time ago. He exhales slowly and feels calmness wash over his tired body.  
“Let's get you back inside, yeah?”

Dan nods and lets his lover pull him up and push him gently towards the door.

Before following Dan inside, Kyle turns around once more. The deep pink of the sky is fading into soft shades of orange and yellow. He smiles to himself.

 

_So, you gonna put a ring on that finger?_

 

_God, yes._


End file.
